


pith and rind

by sybilius



Series: count to ten and run for cover [4]
Category: Il buono il brutto il cattivo | The Good The Bad and The Ugly (1966)
Genre: 70s AU, Angel's Leather Gloves, Blondie's Dramatic Entrances, Character Study, Developing Relationship, Flirting, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Multi, Oranges, Polyamory Negotiations, Shibari, Spanish flirting, That tag is a thing now because I said so, nice things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 14:13:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17962094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sybilius/pseuds/sybilius
Summary: Tuco had never stopped to think about the unspoken list of affections and perversions that are off limits between him and Blondie. Turns out when asked the right way, there are some lines he's willing to cross.An addition tobleeding across state lines.





	pith and rind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deepandlovelydark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepandlovelydark/gifts).
  * Inspired by [bleeding across state lines](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17738321) by [deepandlovelydark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepandlovelydark/pseuds/deepandlovelydark). 



> I wrote this on prompt from  deepandlovelydark, the brilliant mind behind this 'verse I'm all too fond of. The prompt was “unbind me”. 
> 
> This fits after the scene where Tuco and Angel screw on a rooftop and before the camping trip from hell+disaster diner scene. 
> 
> Note that of course this fits into 70s!Au verse, so Angel Eyes and Tuco are very different from how I write them in talking won't save you. You know, multiple incarnations of characters are fun ;)
> 
> All my thanks to Stephantom for betaing my Spanish <3

Fresh oranges were one of the most satisfying fruits out there, Tuco figured. Not to eat, not always, but always to catch, the way their cool texture settled gently on the hand. Better with a partner, but still not bad alone.

“Do you think I could get your help with something?” 

Tuco pauses from tossing the last orange up and down, letting his head droop over the motel bed to take in Angel, who is still damp from the shower but otherwise dressed. In his hand is a black rope: still jute, but finer material than Tuco is sure he's ever used with Blondie. 

“Something like last night?” he can't resist dropping that in, especially given that his elbow still smells mildly of the pine wax that had spilled on the dropsheet. Blondie vanished in the morning, but his jacket was still strewn underneath the bed, which means he'll be back soon. Part of Tuco almost wishes he'd told them how long they had. 

“Yes and no. I have some knots I should practice, as long as we’re in for the morning.” 

“Below the collarbone?” Tuco asks; and Angel cocks his head. 

“That makes a difference?” 

“To me it does.”

“I can abide by that -- if I can use your shoulders. I know it's not to your tastes. It would be a favor to me, as it were.”

It occurs to Tuco that it's been a damn long time since anyone had asked him for something so politely. 

“And?” just as last night, Tuco can see the truth of the matter he's holding back, and simply because he can, because Angel Eyes has always answered him before now and there's no reason why he'd stop. 

“It would interest me to see how it looks on you,” Angel admits. 

“Figured.” 

Tuco pulls himself upwards and begins unbuttoning his shirt, concealing a grin. The bed creaks when Angel sits down, the rope falling on his left shoulder, looping once. He sits with the silence, peeling the orange while Angel begins, slowly at first. 

“I can be less reticent if you'd prefer. Well. I could try, my best” the offer surprises Tuco. They hadn't been keeping their cards close to the chest for a while now, but he wasn't about to lay his on the table just yet. 

“S'long as you're not telling me what you think I want to hear,” which is unthinkable, even as he says it. Besides Blondie, what the hell could he ever offer Angel that would make him lie? 

“Not at all,” it's still reassuring, in a strange way, to hear that. Angel's leather gloves track back and forth across his chest, weaving the rope in no way Tuco has ever seen. Christ, it's more like art. Tuco slips an orange slice into his mouth, as long as his hands are still free.

“I don't deal in lies unless it's for work. Though Blondie more often than not has me lying by omission.” 

“Pollas en vinagre,” Tuco swears. Out loud, which is unusual, in his mother tongue in front of -- well, he could try to be more honest as well. 

“Sí. Ven más cuatro ojos que dos.”

Tuco turns his head a little too sharply, the rope cutting into his neck and causing him to gasp a little. Angel loosens the rope just a bit, god knows how. It's all in netting down his chest. 

“You speak--?” Tuco coughs a little, suddenly conscious of the ghosts of old bruises on his neck. 

“I did slightly more than dispose of a few political figures to get that Telecine. A mild amount of diplomacy. Always helps to be able to communicate with who is paying you,” now imagining Angel Eyes cozying up to Spanish politicians, that isn't hard. Imagining him disposing of a body-- Tuco has a strange image of blood crusted on those black gloves and shivers, much like the first time Angel said his name. 

“Your grammar might be better than mine, for all I get to use it,” Tuco offers him a slice of the orange, which Angel takes, considering both sides of it before slipping it in his mouth. 

“Hmm. Say something again.”

“Uhm. Like wh-- hijo de puta!” Angel Eyes, the bastard, presses a handful of ice on his back. Mierda, Tuco didn’t believe he was quite that conniving when he wanted to be. 

Well. He supposes Blondie could have a type. 

“No, I think it sounds far better on your tongue,” Angel is half smiling, shaking the ice water off his hand and resuming his work. 

“Ahora sólo estás intentando ser encantador, bastardo.” 

“¿Está surtiendo efecto?”

“Tch,” that isn’t as colloquial -- but the worst part of it is, he'll feel bad about bluffing, at this point, “Claro, vamos a huir juntos mientras Blondie está lejos.” 

Angel laughs quietly then, either concentration or that thought pinching his brow together. He resumes tying the rope around Tuco's back, the leather soft against his spine. 

“Your hands?” Angel reaches for the one that doesn't have a third of an orange in it. It's a moment later that Tuco realizes he's asking for permission.

“Sure.” 

Angel takes the orange when he offers it, setting it on the countertop as he goes to work on Tuco's wrists. It's not a rough tie, folded behind his back and laced up to the netting. Nothing Blondie would have asked him for. It wasn't even that tight, just peculiar and grounding in all the patterns that were next to his skin. Hell of a better knot than he could tie, not for lack of practice. 

“Are you comfortable?” 

“Mm, Blondie would've wanted it tighter.” 

“I was asking you, Tuco.”

“Yeah. It’s good. Still his kink, not mine, but. It's pretty.” 

Maybe that was why Blondie had stayed so long the first time-- those deft, wicked fingers making him into a martyr every night. Tuco's skill with rope was better than Blondie tying his own damn noose, by now, but this was something entirely different. They'd used the rope about a month ago in Angel's house, Blondie's neck straining, his breath like a hunted animal.

Blondie hadn't complained about that.

Angel's hands trace his spine again, all the way down to where his hands are neatly bound. Then he sits back consideringly, a penknife appearing in his hands as if by magic. He studies Tuco while he cuts the orange slices in half, exposing the bright color beneath the pith. He eats one off the knife, with a casualness that almost makes Tuco flinch. Despite the fact that they'd just had it out the night before, that he'd really been hoping Blondie might stick around this morning, he could feel himself getting pretty damn hard in his pants. 

He can blame it on the knife. That's new. 

“You gonna keep those gloves on the entire time?” 

Angel pauses a moment, christ those eyes are anything but angelic, but if nothing else Tuco can see something to put the fear of god in him. Angel tugs one off wordlessly, to hands that seem even more breakable in the cheap incandescent light of the lamp. He picks off the last slice of the orange and feeds it to Tuco with bare hands, his fingertips splayed on the side of his cheek.

“Do you want to see how it looks?” 

Tuco isn't quite sure how to answer-- but then the door of the motel is thrown open, letting the vivid sunlight into the room. He almost misses the furrowed confusion on his partners brow before he steps out of the light and the poker face is back on his unshaved cheekbones. 

“Well, you took your time getting back,” Tuco calls, just to see if it will make him flinch. It doesn’t. 

When Tuco turns back to Angel, his hands are already sheathed, though he gives Tuco something of a bracing look before even acknowledging Blondie with a half a nod. 

Blondie shuts the door, studying Angel's work from a few angles. Tuco fights the urge to squirm, suddenly conscious of all the reasons why this is not his kink, being unable to move when he needed to being the most important reason.

“Looks good on Tuco, though -- the knot work is sloppy. The yuki should be tighter, shouldn't it?” Blondie is already getting started at ribbing Angel. Tuco lets out a huff of breath. 

“Alright. Alright, cut me loose from this sex crochet,” Tuco isn’t up for being the trussed up turkey, now or ever. He preferred it when they were fighting over the films, not having pissing contests over who could tie him up better. 

Angel still says nothing to Blondie, though he does flip open the knife he’d been using moments before, and Tuco swears he sees Blondie flinch. Which, Blondie is the least nervous man he’s ever met. He swallows that thought as Angel’s gloves settle on his shoulder. Angel’s half-smile is almost apologetic.

The knife is silent, the movement deft and seamless against his sternum. The ropes fall free with the ease of a strange sleight-of-hand. Tuco is looking so strangely at Angel, he almost misses Blondie’s odd twitch forward.

But when he looks up, his partner is casual as ever, leaning against the wall and his hand hanging lazily by his pocket like he might reach for a pack of cigarettes. No, he has something in his pocket.

“Thought maybe you’d want one for the road.”

The orange Blondie tosses him makes a satisfying slap when he catches it.

**Author's Note:**

> Spanish translation: 
> 
> _Pollas en vinagre_ \-- dicks in vinegar. A colloquial swear that's used numerous ways; here Tuco is using it to express agreement. 
> 
> _Sí. Ven más cuatro ojos que dos_ \-- yes, but four eyes are better than two. The latter is the Spanish idiomatic equivalent to “two heads are better than one” -- referring to keeping an eye on Blondie. 
> 
> _hijo de puta_ \-- Son of a bitch! 
> 
> _Mierda_ \-- Just a religious swear, sort of equivalent to “shit” (but not in meaning) 
> 
> _Ahora sólo estás intentando ser encantador, bastardo._ \-- Now you're just trying to be charming, you bastard.
> 
>  _¿Está surtiendo efecto?_ \-- is it working?
> 
>  _Claro, vamos a huir juntos mientras Blondie está lejos._ \-- Of course, let's run away together while Blondie is away. 
> 
> *
> 
>  
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this, comments always welcome!


End file.
